Page 8 of Hard Hitter
“Okay,” he said tightly.
Hmm. Not exactly a rave review. She worked on, and eventually he closed his eyes and sighed, which was always a good sign. If there were no risk of being caught acting silly, she would have given herself a victorious fist pump.
Taking her time, she loosened up all the ancillary muscles, the ones bordering his trouble spot. Her beat-up old iPod played a Red Hot Chili Peppers song and then transitioned back to Pearl Jam again.
All was right with the world until Ari moved her hands closer to Patrick’s inner hip. One by one, all his muscles tightened up until his entire body had the consistency of a concrete block.
“Patrick,” she said quietly, and his eyes flew open. “Are you in pain? Massage doesn’t have to hurt to do you good.”
“No pain,” he said quickly.
Liar. “You’re fighting me, though. Why is that?”
“Uh,” he pressed himself up on an elbow, causing his chest muscles to ripple. “That’s the... trouble spot, right? Why would I want someone touching it?” The expression on his face was cautious for once.
“Well...” Ari replayed the words he’d just spoken, trying to find a clue to his reluctance. “Because I can help you? I won’t hurt you, I promise. Careful massage can reduce inflammation, and relax surrounding muscles, too. Is it possible that you had a bad experience with massage before?”
He gave his head a shake, as if her suggestion did not compute. “Nah. I just don’t like having, uh, weak spots.”
“Everyone does, though, right?”
“I suppose. But I don’t grab yours.”
She put a hand on his muscular wrist, the way she would anyone. But his eyes traveled down to that spot immediately, and she wondered if she’d just made another mistake. Had any other client ever been such a mystery?
“Hey,” she tried. “You told me a few minutes ago that you’d tried to get a massage at a hotel once. What happened that time?”
“Didn’t work out.” He gave her a wry grin. “It’s not you, I swear.”
“Whydidn’t it work out? Besides the harps. Why did you book a massage?”
He gave what was supposed to be a casual shrug. “I’d slept funny on the jet, and my neck hurt. No big deal. So I booked a massage at the spa. Left after ten minutes. I guess I just don’t like hands on me.”
“You don’t like to be touched.”
He looked at his hands. “It isn’t my favorite thing, no.”
The hair stood up on the back of Ari’s neck, and she had to restrain herself from asking why. Not liking to be touched wasn’t a common attitude. “Everybody’s different,” she said softly. “But we still have to work on your hip flexors. I have one idea that might help you.”
“Good.” He made a sheepish face. “Because I’m fresh out.”
She patted his wrist again—intentionally. If they were going to work together, he needed to become at least alittlemore accustomed to being touched. “Let’s try a more active technique. It will feel more like a gym exercise and less like massage. Can you roll onto your good side and bend your knee for me?”
He complied, turning his broad back to her. She adjusted his bottom leg to be somewhat straight, and then wrapped her hand around his right ankle. “Bend this knee a little more for me.” He did. “All right. I’m going to brace your outer hip. Like this.” She gripped the muscle as far in asshe’d gotten before he’d begun fighting her touch. “And you’re going to put yourownhand on the trouble spot. Show me.”
He pushed his fingertips into his flesh between his hip and his groin.
“Now, don’t use your back.” She tapped the muscles of his lower back. “Don’t activate these. Instead, use your hip and leg. Press down and straighten that leg. Go.”
With a lazy-sounding rumble from his chest, he did as she’d instructed.
“Good! How’d that feel?” She dug her hands into the accessible muscle at his hip, warming it, working it as best she could.
“Not too bad.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me, captain, right?”
He chuckled for the first time. “No, ma’am.”
